


At the Dawn of Valor

by Kniightwalker



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Hellsing, Highschool DxD
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9448826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kniightwalker/pseuds/Kniightwalker
Summary: This is a story of change. Of challenged fates striving towards a future under the power of choice. Of monsters turned human and devils turned angel. Of desire and duty born through the fires of tragedy.This is a story where characters are tested and the cries for salvation reverberate through the hearts of weary souls.





	1. Answer my Call

_Suffering is but another name for the teaching of experience, which is the parent of instruction and the schoolmaster of life._

― Horace

* * *

 

“Perhaps it was an error in the system, Kaichou.”  
  
The tallest of the room suggested, a hint of worry in her tone.

A heiress, with shock and anger in her eyes, gripped the paper, crinkles forming at the sides as she focused on the bright red number at the top.

_98/100_

A hard look settles in her expression.

“Kaichou…”

She flinches as she felt a hand lay on her shoulder.

Taking a moment before closing her eyes, she puts the paper down; laying her hands flat on the table as she takes a deep breath.

She is Sona of the noble house of Sitri, one of the 72 pillars of the Underworld and the heiress of her clan. She holds generations worth of power and majesty at her fingertips, power the likes of which bore the Leviathan.

Fate did not simply require perfection from her, it was DEMANDED.

_And yet…_

Slowly, she opens her eyes, the accursed paper still lying at its sordid spot from where she left it; wrinkles decorating its sides as she felt her fists tighten for a brief moment before letting go.

Looking up, the eyes of her Peerage peered back at her with concern and a slight tell of apprehension. Taking notice, they swiftly turn back around, focusing on their given tasks as if they never witnessed her little episode.

The Student Council President simply sighed, the anger and stress cooling down to a simmer.

* * *

 

Sona shuffled the last of the papers, the burnished glow of orange light filtering through the window panels as she cleaned up. Alone, she sat at her normal spot at the Student Council room, the rest of her Peerage already home, done for the day.

She pushed herself up, carrying her bag as she moved forward and locked the door behind her. Turning, she begins her stride, the light of the dusk sky guiding her along the empty hallways as the sound of footsteps hauntingly echo in the background.

She looked down at her watch, already late by her standards, but she was able to get much-needed work done in exchange.

Normally, Tsubaki would accompany her back to their home, but like her Peerage, Sona urged her to head back on her own, if only to calm herself down in the familiarity of solitude.

She ignored the concerned look in her eyes– _in all their eyes_ , as she bid them a goodbye for the day and continued on with her work.

Perhaps… perhaps she was being a tad too dramatic.

She softly shook her head. _No, I am a Sitri. Results, such as the one from today, are below that of my standing._

She sighed, knowing perfectly well that the standards she sets upon herself would be considered ludicrous to others.

But even so, she was the clan heiress, born to one day lead her people through this new–and crucial, age. She must exemplify everything expected from her and build upon the successes of the generations past, or have it all crashing down on all their heads.

Violet eyes looked up towards a rustic view, a mixture of purple and blue clouds drifting carelessly up above. She remembered how amazing such a sight was the first time she saw it. The dusk skies, the morning dawn, the azure blues. They were all so beautiful, so humbling in a way, yet she couldn’t fathom how anyone could take such a view for granted.

Even now, during such a pensive moment, she couldn’t shake the awe-inspiring majesty that laid above her.

_Such a simple thing…_

* * *

 

“Madam, are you paying attention?”  
  
“Hm? Oh, yes. I apologize, Wilhelm.”  
  
_Such a simple thing…_

“No need, Madam, as I need not remind you the importance of these lessons.”  
  
“Of course, please, continue.”

“Now, as I was saying,” he began, continuing from his previous point. “There were many complicated reasons why the Great War even began. Each side had their various motivations, though, many do agree that the central issue concerned humanity as a whole. Why is it that humanity gathered the interests of all three of the factions when collectively, their power as a race falls woefully short?”  
  
The butler turned away from the chalkboard, a wooden pointer on hand as he waited for the young child’s answer.  
  
Perhaps it was the sunlight. The artificial star that hung over the magically woven sky, peering through the lone window of the study that had drawn the attention of his lone student.

Her amethyst colored eyes that reflected so much of her father’s features paused the old man’s heart, yet painted the image of a pensive individual. And yet, after only seven years of knowing the child since her birth, she has, somehow, wormed her way into his heart.

He sighed, laying the pointer down on the chalk ledge.

“Perhaps we should take a break.”  
  
Silence permeated the room as Sona Sitri sat at the center, hands flat on her lap while her feet dangled from her chair. She was the perfect representation of a porcelain doll, beautiful, priceless and so, so delicate.

“Your mother was once taught in this very room, you know.”

A twitch.

He moved from his spot, looking out the window. The emerald grass of the Sitri property shining brilliantly against the rays of the magical star. The ancient fountain that held the stone image of the original Sitri ancestor proudly displayed at the center, the waters sparkling as it poured out of his vase.

“She was very unlike you,” a soft smile on his face. “She would always find my lesson plans boring, looking for ways to sneak out and play with your father.”

“She was quite energetic,” he mumbled, his smile turning flat.

Wilhelm was not an emotional man. Always stalwart, always stoic, he emphasized everything the Sitri’s represented.

That's why Sona can do nothing but stare at him in hidden curiosity, his back turned as she felt the radiance of his emotions for a few brief moments before clamping down on it.

Had things been different? Before her existence? For a time, even her child mind could sense the mood of the mansion, of how different things were based on the interactions between her, the servants and Mother. Of a better era that did not include herself.

The head butler turned to her, his silver ponytail sashaying from the movement.

“I’m sure, Madam, that one day you will see your Mother. Your true Mother.”  
  
She can see the resolution in his old, yet determined eyes.  
  
“That is why you must preserve. Become the daughter that she will one day take pride in.”

He moved towards the door, his gait slow and controlled.

“Never forget, Sona, that under all that pride and discipline of a Sitri lies the heart of a loving mother.”

He gripped the knob, turning it ever so slowly, a stoic gaze looking forward as he stepped through.  
  
_Never forget._

* * *

 

It was quite some time when she woke up, eyes pointed at the ceiling as she filed the dream to the back of her mind.

Pushing the sheets off, she grabbed her glasses and donned on her house slippers, making a move to her bathroom.

She shifted her gaze towards the mirror, the faint sounds of droplets crashing against the marble sink.

An unmarred face and almond shaped eyes stared back. Onyx, colored locks that fell a few centimeters below her ears. Pink lips slightly ajar, as if waiting to speak out.

And finally, faint streaks that ran down her cheeks

She blinked.

_I look like a mess._

Rubbing her eyes, she turned on the faucet, splashing on cold water and letting the cool liquid slide down her face, finding the feeling relaxing.

After a few moments, she turns the handle off as she shifts to her left and grabs a towel, gently patting herself down before placing it back on the rack. The rhythmic sounds of water droplets continue to pound the marble sink.

_“...preserve...”_

She paused for a few moments until shaking herself from her reverie, gripping the handle and turning it tighter. Slightly frustrated, she continued turning, forcing herself to look down in annoyance.

That’s when she saw it.

A mark, unlike anything she has ever seen before, etched across her hand.

* * *

 

She was back in her favorite chair, at the head of the Student Council table. The sounds of a normal day surrounded her, her Peerage off on their individual tasks, occasionally making conversation with one another.

The mood was lighter, unlike yesterday. Sanji giving off the occasional joke while Momo laughed at the majority of them. Meguri, making wild hand gestures and grunts to stave off boredom while Reya calmed her down. All the while, the pen in Tsubasa’s hand moved diligently as she continued her work, used to the environment.

And through it all, Tsubaki sat by her side, her ever vigilant Queen. Focused, she worked on her classwork, having already done with her Council tasks for the day.

Sona gave a soft smile at the scene, the stress from yesterday dwindling down to an unpleasant memory.

_“Become the daughter she will one day take pride in.”_

The words of her butler from so long ago appeared again in her mind, shifting her attention away from her Peerage and down at her lap, where her hands lay.

She brought the mark up into view, taking a closer look at it.

Beautiful. Unlike any mark she has ever seen. Symmetrical, with graceful curves and intricate patterns, a golden diamond at the center. The pattern almost seems like a heart; the diamond at its core, like a gilded keyhole.

The lines glimmered like a sapphire jewel under her gaze as if greeting their owner in return.

“That is a very interesting… pattern, Kaichou.”

She turned to her, the ever vigilant Queen. Her faintly brown orbs gazing back at Sona behind a pair of blue frames. Blue, like the color of her mark.

“Yes, Tsubaki, yes it is.”

* * *

 

The next couple of days went by relatively normal, her daily focus now on the mark that adorns her right hand. Research, both supernatural and mundane, yielded her no results and after some time in frustration, she informed the rest of her Peerage of the situation, each going off and doing what they can to solve the mystery that plagues their King.

Which brought her here, laying on her bed and looking up, arm outstretched towards the ceiling. Moonlight glistened through the cracks of her window curtains, bathing her bedroom in azure light.

“What are you...?” she whispered, the blue mark glowing as if in response. She simply stared, admiring the craftsmanship, wondering how such a mystery could distract her for so long.

In time, her eyes grew weary.

 _Soon, the mystery shall end._ She thought slowly closing her eyes.

 _And,_ he  _will come._

* * *

 

They all sat at their spots, the operations of a normal day filling the Student Council room.

Sona Sitri sat at her favorite chair once again, her ever vigilant Queen by her side while the pen in Sona’s hand moved at a diligent pace. The president focusing on her Student Council work rather than what laid on her hand for once.

“Kaichou,” approached Meguri with papers in her hand, her ever stalwart Knight. “I was looking through the club balances but I coul–”  
  
That’s when she, rather _they_ , felt it.  
  
A surge of power, interrupting her Knight mid-speech and tripping the alarms of her wards as a burst of mana erupted all around them.

Powerful. Familiar.

At an empty area of the room, the Sitri family sigil appeared, confusing those who recognize it.

Only Sona remained calm, sitting in her chair as everyone else stood in tactical formation, awaiting for their guest.

As the light faded, a lone figure stood at its center, an austere disposition reflected off his silhouette.

“Madam Sitri,” he bowed, the glow gone. An elegant man, well-aged, and dressed in a perfectly immaculate suit.

“Wilhelm,” greeted Sona, a faint smile at the edge of her lips. Saji looked back and forth in confusion, “Wilhelm?”

“I have received your message, Madam. Now then, tell me more about this mark of yours.”

* * *

 

“And you said it just appeared on your hand when you woke up?”  
  
“Yes, and I am fairly sure that I did not have it before that day.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
He continued his examination, her hand gently atop his white-gloved one as he stroked his silver mustache.  
  
The rest of her Peerage all stood to the side, briefed with the current situation and who Wilhelm is.  
  
Moments passed in silence as his eyes continued to scan the mark, anticipation amongst the crowd slowly growing in the background.

Sona merely waited for a response, her face impassive under his scrutiny.

“I have lived for many years, Madam, seen many things throughout my time,” he began, an unreadable expression set upon his face.

He let go, standing straight at his full height, his silver ponytail swaying under his movement.

She looked up from her sitting position, his back turned to her as she silently anticipated his next choice of words.

“I have fought in two wars, seen great feats of magic and prowess from the most unexpected mortals to the greatest of Angels... but nothing like this.”  
  
This caught her attention.

“Have you been able to sense anything from what lies in your hand…?” he questioned, turning back to face her.

“I have tried, but to no avail.”

“I see,” he muttered.

She sat resolutely under his gaze, having grown used to the intensity of his stares before he spoke out once more.

“Under my examination, I was able to partial sense the nature of that mark. The information was quite interesting.”

“The upper layer, the actual mark that you see, is composed of intersecting _Spiritual Lines_ created from a type of energy I have never sensed before. Added along is, curiously enough, your genetic material, or more accurately, your blood.”

That definitely caught her attention, and if not for the audible gasp from some of their audience, then it caught her Peerage’s attention as well.

“Interesting as that may, it’s what lies beneath that truly compels some investigation.”  
  
He began stroking his mustache once again, eyes directed at her hand.  
  
“Power. The likes of which I have seldom sensed over my long lifespan. Not only that, but what lies underneath is a blend of this same type of unknown energy but in far more potent doses, mixed with your own signature mana source and… the holy element.”

Her eyes widened, disbelief stretched across her face.  
  
“But-but how?” she heard Saji blurt out in bewilderment. She couldn’t blame him, as she could barely restrain her own confusion as well.

“I have no idea. I was only able to sense it briefly before it escaped me, but from that experience alone I was able to identify that the amount of energy packed in there would rival the higher ends of an Ultimate-Class Devil.  
  
“Also, by all accounts, the mixture of holy energy that potent would have meant that as soon as it appeared on your hand, it _should_ have purified you on the spot, leaving not a trace of your existence.”

Now standing up, she looked down at the mark incredulously, not knowing how to feel that her life was literally on the line since the day she was first introduced to it.

“How…?” she asked.

“Hm?” the butler raised an eyebrow.

She raised her voice, “How was I not able to sense any of this?”  
  
“Well, that is another interesting point. The Spiritual Lines serves as a cover, and if I could guess, a way to hide the vast amounts of power that lay within it, otherwise, you would be a walking beacon to all those who have an inkling of sensing mana.

“I mean, even so, the lines themselves were sewn on so perfectly, I doubt anyone, even a Master Weaver, could replicate such work.”

“I–I see…” She whispered, still in disbelief.

His eyes softened at the girl who was staring at her hand in intense scrutiny. Pensive thoughts, he could guess, swirling around in that head of hers.

“Is–is it dangerous…?” he heard the other bespectacled girl. Tsubaki, from the audience ask.  
  
He looked up and into her brown orbs standing in ways of defiance under his inscrutable gaze.  
  
_She’s grown quite brave, that one,_ he thought, impressed.

“For now, no. But we can never tell at this point. Too much unknown variables to make an accurate statement, but for now, I shall do what I can and… inform the Mistress.”  
  
He caught Madam Sitri’s subtle flinch at the mention of her mother, the young woman refusing to look up at him.

“Wilhelm,” she spoke, her voice low and very nearly lacking in confidence, “Can I ask that you keep this… mystery, between us? For now, at least.”  
  
He took a moment, taking in features of his former student. An immaculate school uniform, unmarred skin and eyes so purple, he couldn’t help but think back to his former Lord.

“Very well. But if the situation escalates, I am obliged to inform her of the circumstances.”  
  
“I understand.”

She let loose a breath she didn’t know she was holding, the tight grip on the hem of her skirt weakening.

It seems this mystery has gotten a lot more complicated than she thought.

* * *

 

She stood in a vast meadow.  
  
The sun kissed grass that surrounded her, gently brushing against her fingertips as she moved forward.  
  
She looked around, the azure skies that protectively hung above her head, gentle winds flowing through the locks of her hair as the golden sun greeted her like an old friend, warmly blessing her with its rays.

The young woman continued walking on, aimlessly, eyes closed as her white dress fluttered softly against the zephyr winds.

She did not know why. She did not care, but she kept moving. An endless meadow that stretched beyond the scope of her vision. She simply took in the moment of freedom and basked in it.

But it was here where she felt it.  
  
A tree, appearing out of nowhere as she opened her eyes. A tall, golden tree with blue leaves, standing alone in this vast field.

The young woman stood at its base, under its protective shades as she was compelled to stretch an arm out and lay a hand at its bark.

A pulse.  
  
And then she felt it. The roots stretching out beyond the confines of the expansive meadows. Beyond this sea of green.

Her mind whirled with foreign knowledge, a steady headache emanating from the back of her mind.  
  
She let go, clenching her eyes shut and clutching her temples in pain.

In time, it receded until it was nothing but a dull throb, but then, that’s when she smelt it.

The blood. The death. The chaos. The madness of battle that surrounded the fields she now stood upon.

She opened her eyes, the world changed. The peaceful grassy meadow was gone. Instead, a field of battle raging all around greeted her.

Warriors from a different time exchanging blows of ferocity and strength. This once emerald meadow now soaked within a sea of blood, bodies laid and forgotten.

And soon, it all ended. The clashing dying down until silence permeated the air.

She walked, her bare feet wading through the scarlet and mud. Her immaculate dress now splattered in crimson, dripping off the edges.

But it was at the base of a hill where she stopped. A hill of bodies, she realized, until her gaze was drawn to the very top.

Where a king stood victorious and proud, yet broken.

* * *

 

She sat up, the sheets falling from her shoulders.

Sona Sitri seldom dreamed, but when she does, it had always appeared vibrant, yet, unclear. Moving, yet, lost.

They say dreams are a manifestation of your subconscious, a way for your mind to process the on-goings of your life through cryptic clues and symbols.  
  
She never cared to listen to them.  
  
To her, dreams were an escape. A way to unshackle herself from the troubles of the real world. A place to be free, until they fade away, forgotten, when awake.

But now, she couldn’t ignore the signs…

...or the given knowledge.

She felt her stiff legs move, more effort than usual, just to get them away from the sheets and having them feel the bare carpet floor beneath her feet.

 _That was no simple dream._ She thought, as if tasting the lingering blood in the air.  
  
She wiped the sweat from her head. 12:06, she noticed. The grandfather clock ticking away at the corner, a silent witness to her shaken state.

Sona gripped her sheets, calming herself down until she opened her eyes, purpose and resolution replacing the mask of shock.  
  
_There’s work to be done._

But first, a shower.

* * *

 

“Kaichoooou, it’s midnight, why are we here at midnight?”  
  
“Meguri, just trust the President on this one,” the Queen rebuked.

Dressed in their school uniform, Sona and her Peerage stood at a rearranged Student Council room, all the furniture neatly pushed to the sides to make space at the center.  
  
Taking out the vial of platinum requested from her, Tsubaki hands it over to her King, her eyes filled with curiosity at such a request.  
  
Giving her Queen a nod of thanks, Tsubaki takes a few steps back and begins watching her lay out a perfect circle. Not a word is spoken as they all observe the Sitri Heiress, laser focused on the task.  
  
_A ritual? But don’t Devils normally use their energy to create sigils?_ The Queen wondered.  
  
She and the others stood silent, the intentions of their King unknown to them.  
  
Time passes until whispered questions began filling the silent ambiance.  
  
“Aren’t rituals like these performed only by human magicians?” she heard someone ask.  
  
“Normally, yeah. In fact, we don’t even need to say any sort of incantation or use materials like them,” answered a different voice.  
  
“I don’t know, but I think it has to do with that mark we’ve been trying to figure out for a while now.”  
  
“Hey, do you see that?” she heard Saji point out.  
  
The bespectacled Queen perked up and looked.  
  
“Kaichou’s mark, it looks like it's glowing.”  
  
Tsubaki focused on her King’s anomaly, Sona’s hand moving in careful strokes as she adds in the last details to the magic circle.  
  
So focused on the mark, she hadn't realized when her King had finished with her task until she stood back up.  
  
She shifted her attention towards the finished pentagram. It was different, she noticed, different than any other sigil she has ever seen before.

A silver magical circle, with runic symbols mixed within the straight edges.  
  
It was then when she first felt it, breaking her from her thoughts. She wasn’t the only one, however, as the rest of the audience perks up as well, the steadily growing shift of energy emanating from the sigil.  
  
Everyone stepped back but it was her King that stood in place. Defiant. Powerful.

And then she remembered. The school sits on top of one of the largest and strongest Ley Lines in the country, and the current time, she noticed, laid in between the peak of a Devil’s power.  
  
She looked over at the clock.  
  
12:46  
  
“Everyone,” she turns at the sudden address, her attention back to her King, “I want to thank you all for your patience.  
  
“I apologize for waking you all at such an hour, but please, bear with me a little longer.”

She watches in anticipation as Sona takes a deep breath, her eyes closed as she prepares herself for whatever the next step is.

\- Play **Fate/Zero - Point Zero** -

“What I am about to perform is a summoning ritual, unlike which the world has ever seen before.”  
  
_What?_

“For the past few days, we’ve all been wondering what this symbol meant.”  
  
She brought the mark up, looking at her hand in an almost fond manner.

“Only recently was I able to understand the meaning, its purpose.”  
  
She broke away from her observation, sweeping her gaze across each face, as if taking their measure.

It wasn’t until the Sitri’s eyes settled on her that she noticed how tense she felt.

“This is why I ask of you that you bare with me for now.”

She sighed, the tension leaving her body as she gives Sona her rare smile. “Kaichou, we have been friends for a long time and I know how stubborn you can get when you're resolute in a task, so please, don’t underestimate our trust and friendship."

“Yeah!” Meguri cheered. “We’re your friends, Kaichou, you could do whatever you want and we’ll always have your back!”  
  
She smiled, hearing the sounds of agreement go all around her.

“Thank you, all of you.” She whispered, a gentle smile on her face.  
  
The moment was broken by the silent determination settling upon her eyes as they turn to face her, her Queen.

They both hold their gaze for a moment before Tsubaki gives her the slightest of nods.

The leftover doubts and fears, all of them melting away as the regal aura of the Sitri’s begin emanating from her stance.

Tsubaki gave a silent smile.

_She’s ready._

* * *

 

Nodding back to her Queen, Sona turns her attention to the task before her.  
  
It was odd having the knowledge implanted in her by a vision. Knowledge that became so intimate, so complete that she almost couldn’t believe how blind to it all she was before the dream. But despite her given insight of the ritual, and how to perform it, she still had no idea what she would be summoning.  
  
She thought back to her vision. Of that blurred image of stained majesty atop a hill of bodies.  
  
She sighed, taking a deep breath.  
  
_I need to calm down. Fretting over strange visions won’t help me at this moment._  
  
Despite how relaxed she looked on the outside, she can feel her heart pounding in her chest.  
  
_Breathe, Sona, breathe._  
  
Shutting her eyes, she stretched out her right arm, the energy beneath the mark flowing.

She can feel it; a soft, blue glow as if responding to her command, pulling at her spiritual core.  
  
All is quiet as she takes a moment to begin drawing out her demonic energy, mixed with this strange energy.  
  
_“Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill._  
  
_Let each be turned over Five Times, simply Breaking Asunder the fulfilled time,_  
  
_Let Silver and Steel be the Essence. Let Stone and Spirit be the Foundation.”_  
  
She can feel it, the rushing sense of power…  
  
_“As Salvation guides me._  
  
_Raise a Wall, against the Falling Wind._  
  
_Close the Four Cardinal Gates from the Crown._  
  
_Come Forth and follow the Forked Road to the Kingdom,_ ” she proclaims, gaining volume.  
  
Energy begins coursing through her system as she forces open her eyes with fierce intensity, ignoring the growing buildup of light before her.  
  
_“I Hereby Propose—_  
  
_Thou shall Serve my Command, and my Fate shall be thy Sword._  
  
_Abiding to the Beckonings of the World._  
  
_If thou shall Submit to this Will and Reason... then Answer My Call!”_  
  
The sigil crackles with unrestrained power, her audience watching on with an unbridled mixture of shock and awe as a breeze begins to pick up from the gathering amount of raw mana.  
  
_“Hear my Oath! I shall be all that is Good in the Eternal World._  
  
_I shall have Dominion over all of the Evils of Hell!”_  
  
The breeze picks up speed, generating a fierce gale as it kicks dust all across the room. The light blazing with intensity, forcing several members of her Peerage to take steps back, shielding their eyes.  
  
_“From the Seventh Heaven and in accordance of the Three Great Powers, come forth from the Hall of Heroes, Guardian of the Balance!”_  
  
She finally slams her eyes shut, no longer able to handle the intensity as the blinding flash of golden light engulfs the entire room.

* * *

 

It was said that legends were mostly fictitious by design. Every repeat of the tale would grow more and more grand until they barely resembled what they once originally were.

Yet, there were times when legends would fall woefully short of their descriptions. Certain stories from ages past that would undersell the hero of the story.  
  
But then again, no one alive would be able to tell the difference.

Glory is the essence of those figures from eras long past their vigil; of heroes and monsters alike. So when those of modern times would gaze upon the personification of victory, they could do nothing but stare.

They did not know her. They have never seen her. But it was _how_ she appeared that introduced them all to majesty that the world has long forgotten.

“I ask of you–” she began, sitting atop her exalted mane, clad in silver armor as it sparkled against the might of her power.

It was here that the cogs of Fate would begin their turn, that the truth of legends began their exalted tale at this very moment; when the magic settled, when a king arrives when they were needed, the world would pay heed, asking her in regal blue and with emerald eyes shone like the sun–

“–Are you my Master?”


	2. Red

_Trauma is hell on earth. Trauma resolved is a gift from the gods._

― Peter A. Levine

* * *

 

It’s… crimson. It’s all crimson.

The walls, the bookshelves, the carpet; it’s a world of bloody, wet crimson.  
  
_Why couldn’t they just have chosen another color?_  
  
The clock slowly ticked away in the background, the weight of its sound adding to the growing build up of pressure at the back of her mind.  
  
“Miss Argento?

_Huh?_  
  
She looked up to rustic orbs peering back at her.  
  
“Would you like some tea, Miss Argento?” the man repeated; the smoothness of his Italian and grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Ah,” she said, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “N-no thank you.”

His eyes gazed back, unmoving.  
  
“Miss Argento, you do me a disservice. Have I offended you in such a way?”

“Wha–? N-no, My Lord.”

“Are you certain? Just a moment ago you had a look of disgust on your face.”

She blushed, sitting straight, “I apologize for my rudeness, My Lord,” giving off a curt bow. “I-it’s just…”

She looked down, emerald colored eyes hidden behind golden bangs.

The Bishop softly tapped his desk, his grin momentarily gone before it resettled against his face.  
  
“No, no, it should be I who must apologize. It seems that you were lost in the midst of unpleasant memories. Perhaps you would like to reschedule this meeting for another time?”

“N-no!” She yelped before immediately lessening her tone. “Just, I am sorry, My Lord. I won’t be distracted again.”  
  
She meekly looked back up, their eyes meeting as silence settled in the room. Soft taps continue to strike against the desk filling the growing ambiance of the room, Asia Argento looked away, breaking eye contact.  
  
He smiled.  
  
“You seem to be stressed,” he finally began, pouring himself a cup of tea.  
  
The holy man took a long sip, savoring the warm flavor. She watches from the corner of her eye as she waits patiently for the bishop to finish his drink.  
  
“Do you know what’s been on my mind lately?” he asked.  
  
“That despite our progress in the modern age, we are still at the mercy to the powers of old.”

Asia tilted her head, confused with what he meant.  
  
“Humanity has always prostrated themselves to a higher power,” setting the tea down. “Whether to false idols or whatnot, we, as a species, seem to always be destined to serve under those that live above us.”

He softly shook his head, bringing the cup close to his face and taking a whiff.

“But the world is changing, Asia Argento,” he calmly added, “And none more obvious the changes than here at the Church.  
  
“Those that sit at the top, the old men, they may not see it, but the masses and numbers speak for themselves.”  
  
He turns to face her, the cup sitting on the saucer.

“With every new generation, they believe less and less. It’s evident with the growing contempt for religion these days. Atheism, once a niche ideal, is now on the rise, and none of it more evident than how Christendom, as a whole, struggles to adapt to modern ideas and thoughts. Perhaps in time, religion as we know it will go in the ways of mythology, for historians to study.”

He turned his gaze up, a flicker of something genuine smoldered under his expression.  
  
“The world is changing, my dear,” he repeated, steepling his hands. “And I have a feeling that we are in the midst of this new age.”  
  
He eyed the girl who sheepishly looked up from her position.  
  
“I-I don’t understand, My Lord.”

He observed the former nun. Long, golden locks that flowed past her shoulders, forest verdant eyes that beheld innocence behind their orbs and a lithe frame, hidden beneath sagging robes.  
  
A natural beauty, one that beguiles her status as a saint.

While the Church may have thrown her out, considerable followers still hold her in high regard due to her past actions and mass appeal. An angel, they would say, in the guise of a young girl.  
  
“You are kind and faithful, but you have yet to understand how the world works.”  
  
She perked up from those words, a curious gaze innocently placed across her expression.  
  
But he wasn’t fooled. If he had seen such a face before those events, he might have believed it but the world has already stripped that veil of innocence from her.  
  
“I think I understand, sir.”  
  
_Of_ course _you do._  
  
“Then,” he began after a moment's pause, “I would assume that if given the chance, you would reconsider your choice that led you to your excommunication in the first place?”

She gulped, not expecting that sort of question to appear out of nowhere.  
  
He began counting the ticks from the clock, remembering the uproar she caused the Church for helping a wounded Devil that fell near her abbey. She was warned to stay away, the exorcists on site ready to deal with humanity's ancient foe.  
  
“I would not.”

The man of the cloth raised a brow, surprised, yet, at the same time, not so much.  
  
“Oh?”

She looked down, a tender look settling in her expression.

“D-don’t misunderstand, My Lord, I have thought about it, running everyone’s arguments in my head over and over again but I couldn’t find a reason not to do what I have done.”

"I simply couldn't leave him to bleed out the way he did..." She whispered.

“ _Do not withhold good from those to whom it is_ due, _when it is in your power to act._ " The man quoted, nodding his head.  
  
_She is just as the rumors foretold._  
  
Their eyes met once again, but this time, she did not look away.  
  
He turned, after a few moments, his smile gone and replaced by a slight frown.  
  
“The world is an unforgiving and scary place,” he slowly began. “Especially for those inexperienced with it.

“You have compassion, and based on what I’ve heard and seen, the Church is lesser without you officially gracing its halls.”

“I…”

“But you lack understanding, Miss Argento. Despite your charity, every action has a reaction. Every decision, a ripple.”  
  
She didn’t respond, her shoulders sagging from his lecture as she felt the pressure on her mind grow.  
  
“If this were the days of old, they would have burned you as a witch.”  
  
The man of the cloth sighed, pushing himself up.  
  
“Asia, there is no doubt in my mind that your intentions were noble. But you have to understand that there is a difference between the right choice and the correct choice.”

He slowly walked towards the window, it's light filtering through its glass as if guiding him forward.  
  
“Devils are known for their cruelty, it has been documented for ages.”

He peered out the window, his smile turning flat as he eyed the chirping birds flapping through the air, the sun beaming down through a cloudless, azure sky.

“At that same day, we lost sight of that Devil you healed, flying off as our exorcists began to surround it. But luckily, before we did, we were able to take a sample of the miasma it left behind, giving us the chance to track it.”  
  
He shook his head.  
  
“A shame…” He mumbled before sighing.  
  
He took a moment to enjoy the view, watching a pair of young children walking off to their lessons.  
  
“A shame that when we were able to locate him that it led us to a certain French town. A French town you happened to wander off too after your excommunication.”

The nun was caught momentarily confused before it dawned on her… and her face paled.

“Every choice has a consequence. Every choice has far reaching implications. How we navigate through life is by trying to predict these outcomes, but as humans, it’s never enough.”  
  
“H-how…?” she whispered.  
  
He looked back at her from the corner of his eye.  
  
“I know things, Miss Argento.”  
  
The room stayed silent once again. The man of the cloth returned to observing the priests and nuns going about their day, faces content as they went about their day.  
  
_It was all my fault._  
  
She held her chest as the tension felt on her chest tightened its hold on her lungs. The pressure in the back of her mind pressing full-force.  
  
_It was all my fault._  
  
She couldn’t bear it, the memories coming to her in full force, turning her world… red.  
  
It’s… crimson. It’s all crimson.

The walls, the sun, and sky; it’s a world of bloody, wet crimson.  
  
_Just like that night._  
  
“Red,” she mumbled.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
At that moment, she stilled.  
  
He awaited her response, this patient man garbed in a bishop’s robe.  
  
“I saw red. So much red. And their eyes, glowing yellow eyes under all that darkness.”  
  
The man finally turned to her, unsurprised as a frown adorned his face.  
  
“They… they were all people once. Kind people. But those things... those things that looked like them, wore their faces like a puppet...”  
  
He watched her begin to shake despite her blank stare.  
  
“Monsters. They became nothing more than monsters.”  
  
“And these… monsters; what were they doing…?”

She gulped, the intensity of her memories growing sharper, like fangs.

“They were attacking everyone. The men, the women, the children. Like animals, they… they ate them.”

She could never forget. Running through the streets, corpses that should have stayed dead were rising to attack the living.

She remembered calling out to them, the friends that took her in despite telling them of her situation. Good, kind people now turned into monsters feasting on the flesh of the living. Like crude, twisted imitations of what they once were in life, they shambled forward, their low-pitched groans haunting her in her sleep to this day.  
  
“They became monsters. Demons,” she spoke out, her voice course.  
  
He continued to watch the girl, thoughts running through his head as she finally hung her head down, exhausted from reliving those events.  
  
Finally, the bishop straightened himself up… and made a decision.  
  
“You were at least right about one thing,” he began, “that they were indeed monsters.” The man walked towards the bookshelf and pulling out an old, black tomb. He laid it down on his desk, opening it to a certain page in front of her.  
  
_**Homo Necrosis** **Zombifis**_ , it read in big black letters. Underneath lied a sketch, a drawing of what she saw that night, etched on the pages of this book  
  
“Yes, the people you knew were turned into these… things,” he tapped the page, “Undead familiars, zombies, or what’s better known as Ghouls in the Moonlit World.”  
  
He turned the page, a drawing of a fearsome man, more creature, really, than human, sat at its pages. The stare of its burning eyes boring into her with hungry eyes.  
  
_**Homo Nosferatu Vampiri**_.  
  
“That, my dear, is what you should truly fear. A perversion of humanity. Man turned demon.”  
  
She steadily reached out, fear and curiosity seen through her eyes.  
  
“Vampire…” she breathed out, softly sliding her fingertips down the sketch of the monster.  
  
“Yes, vampire. A creature of the night who burns in the light of day. Soulless beings who wear the guise of human flesh like cheap clothes. These are the creatures that prematurely stole the lives of all those people. We believed that this vampire was working for the Devil that you healed... and was the cause of that town's destruction.”

He walked towards her slump form, heavy footsteps moving closer and closer.  
  
“The world is dark and full of terrors, Miss Argento. And in that darkness, people would always clamor for the light, no matter how small or diluted. Even in this age of waning faith, humanity will always possess that irrational fear of the monsters that haunt our old legends.”  
  
Black clouded her vision as the man stepped in front of her, his figure straight and unbending.

“At this moment, only a select few know this but do not think this would stay hidden forever. Once they do and make the connections it has with you, they would cry out for blood. Your blood.”

She continued to look down, her expression hidden beneath her golden locks.  
  
“I’ve... pulled a few strings, and for the moment, they cannot touch you. But my protection can only go so far.” He laid his gloved hands on her shoulders, empty green eyes looking up to meet his.  
  
He was momentarily taken aback by how lifeless she looked but inwardly shook it off, steeling his resolve.

"Miss Argento, promise me that if such an incident would happen again to consult me. Your life is one blessed by the Lord, please see to it that you use this second chance wisely."  
  
He crouched down, his eyes leveling with her blank ones.

"For them."

* * *

The doors closed, leaving the man alone with his thoughts.  
  
Although satisfied with the results, he reclined his chair, a neutral expression coloring his face.  
  
Asia Argento, the Holy Priestess. A young girl abandoned at the doorstep of the local church at the quaint town of Vogogna only to be recognized and taken in by the Vatican. A miracle to find someone blessed with her talents.  
  
He turned slightly, picking up the report from his desk and reviewed it once more.

* * *

**MEMORANDUM**

  
  
To: Bishop Makube, Section 2  
  
From: Section █

Subject: Investigation of the Town of Nançay  
  
All information of her background is included under the same folder. This report also includes eye-witness excerpts from Argento, Asia, a recently excommunicated nun who is also known as _The Holy Priestess_. Her interrogation along with information of her excommunication will also be filed under the same folder.  
  
At the time of this report, the subject appears compliant, although her mental state is questionable. Clean up operations are currently proceeding within the given timetable; as of the time of this report, the incident has been dubbed the “Tragedy of Nançay.” Sections █ and ██ are cooperating with French authorities and various international agencies in investigative and cover-up operations.  
  
The listed 881 residences of _Le Vieux-Nançay_ are now listed as casualties. 8 Kilometers of terrain from the affected area has been effectively cordoned off by both mundane and mystical means.  
  
The official cover story is listed as a natural gas leak. The incident caused by the nearby undiscovered pocket of natural CO2 gas has effectively killed off the town residents in their sleep.  
  
In actuality, the town residents have been infected by a strain of vampirism and were turned into Ghouls. Unknown to investigators was how they were all purged in one night. No known Holy instrument was found in the area but large amounts of Holy energy were detected. Inquiries to ███████ have also yielded a negative as no angelic activity has been reported. Asia Argento has been discovered as the only known survivor.

The investigation is ongoing.

* * *

“This will be your only set of keys, make sure not to lose it.”

At those words, the Sister dropped the keys into Asia’s hand, immediately turning away without a goodbye.  
  
She remembers her too, before her excommunication. She was always so cheerful and encouraging, but now her eyes held nothing but contempt.  
  
Asia sighed, letting the remembrance go as she inserts the key into her new home.  
  
She stepped in, feeling the bump of her luggage rolling over the entrance.  
  
The room was a lot smaller than she thought. Smaller than what she had before leaving the Vatican and the church of the kind Father that took her in.  
  
The church...  
  
_I certainly do miss them…_  
  
She shook her head, feeling her eyes water.  
  
_Not now._  
  
Flipping the switch, the single bulb in the small room began flickering as it struggled to turn and stay on.  
  
To her left was a bathroom. One, she observed, that has not been used in a long time.  
  
Moving forward, the former nun began unpacking her only luggage.  
  
One by one, she takes out what few possessions she has until the worn-out leather of a familiar tomb peaked out from under the folded clothes.  
  
Pushing it all aside, she pulls it out; it’s wrinkled cover held between her hands as she read its title, the only thing adorning the empty, black background.

* * *

_She gripped the hem of her robes._  
  
_“Um, sir… is it okay if I borrow that book?”_

_He raised an eyebrow, “Not that I have a problem with it, but may I ask why?” questioned the holy man._  
  
_She stared at the open literature, her face neutral to the illustrated monster seemingly staring back at her. “You said that I was ignorant of the world. That I have much to learn. You weren’t the only one to say that to me.”_

_He laid down the report he was reading and clasped his fingers, a smile hidden underneath._  
  
_“So, you want to learn.”_  
  
_It was not a question, merely an observation._  
  
_She nodded._

* * *

The former nun felt the aged spine pressed on her palm; the old and weary leather whispering hints of its age against her touch.  
  
Slowly, she felt the words roll out of her tongue, “ _ **Liber Monstrorum**_ ,” she whispers.  
  
The Book of Monsters.  
  
Cautiously, she opens the cover, careful not to ruin its delicate pages, and begins reading. The light above her slowly flickering in the background.


End file.
